Epilogue
by Every Shade of Blue
Summary: The first few hours were the hardest. Everything had happened so fast; he'd barely had the time to allow it all to sink in, much less begin to process it. Kara was gone. His father was gone. Laura was gone. Lee was alone. [post-Daybreak; What Lee Adama does after being left alone by everyone he loves in his first hours on a brand-new planet.]


**1.**

The first few hours were the hardest.

Everything had happened so fast; he'd barely had the time to allow it all to sink in, much less begin to process it. Kara was gone. His father was gone. Laura was gone.

Lee was alone.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there, rooted to the same spot where he'd watched his father leave – again – and where Kara had vanished into thin air as though she'd never been there at all. He couldn't move. He didn't want to. And even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have known what to do anyway. For the first time in years – hell, in practically his entire life – he had nothing to do. He had no responsibilities, no duties, no orders. He should have been able to relax.

But he couldn't.

The sun beat down on his face as he stared blankly up at the sky. The heat of it was so unfamiliar he almost looked away, but he still couldn't seem to make himself move. It took him a long moment to realize that he was crying, probably had been for a long time. The tears were hot, some fresh, some already drying on his face. Shaking slightly, he fell to his knees, finally letting himself fall back into the tall grass, flat on his back.

Everything was so bright. The whole world was shades of blue and green. He wasn't used to it; it almost hurt his eyes. But still he didn't try to look away. He simply lay there and let it fill his mind, the light and the heat and the colors blocking everything else out, because if he let himself think about anything else, then…

Then he'd remember that he was alone.

**2.**

The first night was the hardest.

He was still lying there in the field, still staring blankly up at the sky. It was dark now, and full of countless stars. It reminded him of being back on Caprica – except there were no familiar constellations here. He felt like he was drowning, like he was watching the destruction of the resurrection ship from his ejection seat as the last of his air bled away.

Cold breezes shivered through the grass around him, chilling him to the bone.

He knew that somewhere out there, probably not very far away, were other Colonials, other people from the Galactica, bedding down for the night around warm campfires with friends and family.

Part of him wished he could join them.

But part of him didn't want to. Part of him knew he didn't really belong. Everyone he should have belonged with was gone.

He didn't know when he finally fell asleep. He didn't know how many dreams he had, how many nightmares, how many times he woke suddenly, shaking and gasping and waiting for his heart to stop racing.

All he knew was that by morning, he felt like he hadn't slept at all.

**3.**

The first morning was the hardest.

The sunrise was beautiful, soft pastel shades of pink and lavender mixing with fiery reds and oranges and yellows as this planet's small, young son rose above the horizon. He continued to lie there as he watched the light creep across the hills in the distance, gradually approaching until it slid across his tired body, warming the grass around him.

It was his first sunrise in his new home. It should have been a joyful moment. He was certain that the rest of the Colonials and Cylons camped nearby were celebrating. But not him. He had no one to share it with, and tears pricked at his eyes again at the thought. He blinked rapidly, denying them before they could fall.

He had to move. He knew that if he stayed where he was any longer, he wouldn't be able to hold the tears back. Turning his head toward the spot where Kara had last stood, his lips moved faintly, forming words almost of their own accord:

"What do I do?"

The question was barely more than a whisper, nearly carried away by the crisp morning breeze. There was no answer. There was nothing in the silence but the faint swish of the grasses moving gently from side to side, and underlying that, the sound of his own shallow breathing.

Forcing himself to get to his feet, Lee stood for a moment, swaying slightly as he suddenly realized how empty his stomach was. He hadn't eaten since early the day before.

There. That was something to do, some purpose to direct him – for a little while, at least. Pointing his feet in the direction of the nearest supplies, he started to walk.

**4.**

The first week was the hardest.

Despite the apparent widespread acceptance of his suggestion to eschew cities for the time being, settlements and communities were already beginning to spring up. People were building up their shelters in small villages, maybe towns, living in camaraderie with friends, family, neighbors.

Lee did not join them. He had pitched a tent, at first, just on the outskirts of a settlement mostly made up of other men and women from the Galactica. Helo and Athena had started to build up a farm there, and the Tighs were nearby, along with many others. Some – especially the Agathons and a few other pilots – had tried to convince Lee to join them. But he didn't want to. There was too much pity in their eyes.

So he left.

For six days, he walked as far as he could, but just when he thought he'd finally broken away into the wilderness, he always encountered yet another settlement. He passed through each of them as quickly as possible. In some, he was recognized here and there. Even the fleet's civilians had occasionally caught glimpses of Lee Adama, the boy from the Galactica who had been president for a day.

Lee liked it better when they didn't recognize him. He took to using false names, swapping out his jacket with the Colonial Fleet patches on the shoulders for a civilian one.

He'd been a pilot, a CAG, a commander, a politician, a president long enough.

He was tired.

And he was done being Lee Adama for a while.

**5.**

The first month was a little easier.

He walked and walked, not caring where he was going or when he would get there. At night, he stopped and pitched his small tent wherever happened to be convenient. On the rare occasion that he stumbled across another settlement, he resupplied as best he could and moved on. He became very good at hunting, and at patching up his clothes. He even learned to cut his own hair, finding, to his great surprise, that it actually didn't look too shabby.

Not that it mattered. More often than not, there was no one else around to see him anyway. Keeping his hair short was more out of convenience than anything else.

Some days, he walked for hours without thinking about anything at all. Other days, when the sky was dark and heavy with rain and his mood followed suit, he began to wonder how long he could keep this up. He had always liked to be alone some of the time – but not all the time.

He missed Kara. He missed his father. He missed Laura.

There were nights when he stared up at the stars and missed being Apollo.

There were days when he walked through a settlement and wished for someone to call him by his real name. He'd been other people for so long. He was finally starting to feel like Lee again.

**6.**

The second month was easier than the first.

He spent much of it alone, only ever coming across two small villages. Not many ships had landed this far away from the main body of the Colonial and Cylon refugees. The ones that had were the ones who had voted to, the ones who had wanted to be alone – like Lee.

He started using his real name again. A few people recognized it. One even saluted. To his surprise, he found that he didn't mind. He wasn't so tired anymore.

He still missed his family – that was how he'd come to think of his father and Kara and even Laura, even though he'd only actually been related to one of them – but it was a distant ache now.

This planet was so beautiful. There were mountains (_"I wanna climb mountains!" Gods, had he really said that?)_ and rivers and plains and oceans, and everything felt so new and fresh and alive.

Lee felt alive. He felt new. He even began to feel like he was more than a shadow of a man flitting through the grass and rocks and trees.

He began to feel like he belonged.

**7.**

The sixty-seventh day was the easiest.

That was the day he found it.

Home.

Three days before, he had finally run into an ocean. No more walking in a straight line now; he'd found the edge. It was time to change direction. So he'd stood on the shore, looked both ways, and picked the one he liked the best. He couldn't say why. There was just something about it that felt right.

And he walked.

He walked until the beach curved away in the distance, and the land began to turn into a series of ridges and plateaus, all grass and rock. Some he went around. Some he climbed. The view from each was spectacular.

On one, there was a house.

It was small, no more than a cabin with two, maybe three rooms. It sat on top of a plateau, just back from the ridge that formed its edge, overlooking a breathtaking easterly view.

He was climbing toward it before he knew he wanted to. Something unseen, unheard drew him on, pulling him irresistibly toward this one house after pushing him away from so many others. This one was different. This one was important.

He reached it quickly, and he stood in front of its rough wooden door. There were windows cut into the walls. The ones on the north side, the side with the door, were covered from the inside.

There would probably be more windows on the east side.

At this time of day, they would probably be uncovered.

But he didn't go to the east side. He didn't look in the windows. He reached out and placed a hand on the door and pushed.

The door opened into a small room.

In the center of the room was a rough, handmade wooden table.

A man sat at one end of the table, his back to the door.

Across from him was an empty chair.

Lee stepped into the room and shut the door quietly behind him. He crossed the room, and he sat in the second chair. His father looked at him across the table, two pairs of baby blue eyes reflecting the golden, early morning light as they looked back at each other in the silence.

Neither seemed surprised.

"You were waiting for me." It wasn't a question.

Bill Adama smiled. "I knew you'd find me."

That was the sixty-seventh day.

That was the day Lee stopped counting.

**8.**

Every day after that was easy.

The cabin with the easterly view became home. After all, it had been built to be. Lee had been right in guessing that it had three rooms. One was the living area. The second was where his father slept. The third was Lee's.

He didn't live there. He never stayed very long.

But it was home.

It was a starting point, and it was a destination. It was where every circle began and ended. Lee walked away from it often. But he always came back.

No matter how long he was gone or how far he walked, it was always there in the end.

Even when Bill Adama wasn't.

Even when Lee had buried him next to Laura Roslin.

Even then, the cabin was still home.

Finally, it was a place where Lee Adama belonged.


End file.
